


What's Mine Is Yours

by MsOzma



Series: HSWC 2014 Fills [29]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:49:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsOzma/pseuds/MsOzma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave really needs to learn to share, and Jane will make sure that happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Mine Is Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Reeeeeally quick fill I did that does little justice to a really cute prompt. (Not to mention I originally misread it as a Dave/Jade prompt, _that's_ embarrassing. :/)
> 
> Based on this prompt:
> 
> "alpha!Dave♥aged-up!Jane
> 
> His and Hers: When a couple living together mark their possessions with 'his' and 'hers' (or similar but less traditional markers)."

You thought it was silly, the way he felt the need to label things. For boxes, he always used a marker, but he’d even label things not in boxes, in which case a label gun is usually needed. Turntables? Labeled “dave striders shit.” Box of old clothes? “dave striders clothes stay away jane.” The dog you guys adopted? The collar says “daves dog what now jane think youre all cool with your cat there look at this dog thats mine.” Hell, he’d even label groceries, pancake boxes and sodas all marked with “property of dave strider get your own shit jane” or some variation thereof. You can’t imagine a guy could be anymore stingy and unwilling to share.  
  
To combat the ridiculous trend, you decided to label your own stuff.  
  
It started with simple boxes and cake pans saying “Property of Jane Crocker.” Then, you were labeling your super cool “detective” stuff with “Only a  _true_  detective can use this! (AKA not you, Dave.)” After that, you got a collar for your cat, to match Dave’s dog’s collar, it saying “This pussy is Jane’s! Dogs drool!” (Though it was somewhat ineffective, since your cat would simply go to whoever was willing to pet it, whereas he actually made certain his dog didn’t go near you.) And of course, soon you were labelling your own groceries or your own freshly baked cakes and pastries (much to Dave’s chagrin) with them saying, “Looks like Mr. Strider will have to  _starve_ , because this belongs to me! :B”  
  
Dave, of course, took this all with his flippant irony and sarcasm, as if it didn’t phase him at all. If anything, it seemed he would try to double his efforts to label his things and keep it away from you.  
  
That’s when you decided to step it up a notch. You started labelling  _furniture_.  
  
That lamp? “Jane’s property!  <3” The couch? “this is daves stay away.” The bed? “Sleep on the couch, Strider!!!” Every single thing of furniture was labeled either with marker, or with a label gun, or sometimes even red or blue stickers. Dave seemed more persistent, acting like he didn’t even care about sleeping on the couch away from you.  
  
That’s when you pulled out your trump card.  
  
Dave, despite being some hotshot rich as hell movie star, decided to move into  _your_  place—the place you had paid the money you inherited to own yourself. Meaning every electric socket, wall, carpet fiber, tile, and bathroom was  _yours_. You made it so he would have to pay you money to take a step on the carpet and go use  _your_  toilet or shower, and that’s when he finally broke.  
  
“FUCKING OKAY,” he yelled one day, barging into your room. “I’LL STOP LABELING MY SHIT, NOW CAN I  _PLEASE_  USE THE BATHROOM WITHOUT HAVING TO PAY YOU ANOTHER THOUSAND DOLLARS!?”  
  
Technically, you only charged him a hundred dollars every time (hey, he’s just as rich as you), but the technicality didn’t matter to you. You just smiled smugly, and strolled over to him to lay a kiss on his cheek.  
  
“Thank you, Dave,” you said sweetly.  
  
“Fuck off,” he muttered, walking over to the bathroom. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”  
  
You giggled sheepishly, happy that you had finally won the war.


End file.
